The Stag and The Direwolf
by kayewrites
Summary: An AU in which the trueborn and firstborn son of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister survived the fever that nearly took him in infancy. Meanwhile, a girl is born to Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully after Robb but before Sansa. Follow Duncan Baratheon and Marna Stark as their fates intertwine. OC/OC. Multi-POV.
1. Marna (Chapter One)

**The Stag and The Direwolf**

 _Edited on April 26th, 2017._

 **Warning:** Mention of menstruation.

* * *

 **Chapter One:** _Marna_

The day before her fifteenth nameday, Marna was startled out of her slumber by the sound of someone knocking on her door. Upon recognizing the sound, the girl gave an annoyed groan from her spot on her bed where she laid face down on her pillows with her thick, dark auburn hair splayed out around her like the end of a mop.

"It's Betrys, milady, might I come in?" A high-pitched voice called out from the other side of the thick, ironwood door. Marna sighed in frustration as she pushed herself up from the bed, but stilled when she felt the all too familiar sign that her moonblood was upon her. ' _Oh, of course. It just_ had _to come the day before my nameday. I swear I have the absolute worst luck in the entirety of the seven kingdoms,'_ thought Marna as she angrily rubbed the sleep from her blue-grey eyes.

There was a pause in the knocking at the door, during which Marna had risen from the bed entirely with her legs squeezed together in an attempt to prevent any more blood from soaking her smallclothes. "Yes, yes, come in already, Betrys," she said as she waddled over to the dressing screen in the corner of her room. Moving behind the screen, Marna pulled off her white, silk undershirt and, with a frustrated sigh, stood on her tippy-toes to place it on top of the tall dressing screen.

The sound of creaking, a telltale sign that someone had opened her bedroom door, filled her ears. "Pardon me, milady, but it's already noon. You'll be late for your lessons with Septa Mordane if you don't hurry!" The woman admonished before she noticed the sheet on the bed had a bloody spot right in the middle of the bed.

Marna resisted rolling her eyes while she pulled off her bloodstained smallclothes and placed them on the top of the dressing screen next to her undershirt. "Betrys, my moonblood has begun. That, paired with the fact that I didn't sleep well, means that I am in no mood to deal with Septa Mordane and her lessons today."

Betrys shook her head at the young girl's stubbornness before collecting the stained bedsheets. "Milady, are you sure that's wise? Your Lady Mother will surely be cross with you if you skip the Septa's lessons," said the handmaiden as she placed the bedsheets in a pile next to the door before walking over to her Lady's wardrobe.

"Don't worry about it, Betrys. Mother will get over it. Besides, tomorrow is my nameday. She won't stay cross with me forever," said Marna, pausing briefly when she noticed the blood on her normally pale thighs. Sighing, she grabbed a rag from a stand behind her and wetted it in the basin next to the stand before sitting on a stool and wiping at her thighs.

After Betrys browsed the dresses in the wardrobe, she looked back at the dressing screen. "Whatever you say, Milady. Any thought to what you might wear today?"

Marna paused in her ministrations to think about possible choices for the day. "My simple green lambswool dress will be fine, Betrys." After cleaning her thighs, she rinsed the rag in the basin.

Betrys nodded to herself as she picked the mentioned dress out from the wardrobe, while also grabbing a white linen shift, silken smallclothes, a pair of hose, and calfskin boots that lace to the knee. Closing the doors to the wardrobe, Betrys made her way to the dressing screens with her arms full. "Here you are, milady," she said as she handed the items over the dressing screen to her Lady.

"Thank you, Betrys. Once I am ready, would you like to accompany me to the Godswood? Or, we could go to the Library, as I've been meaning to read ' _Winter's Kings, or the Legends and Lineages of the Starks of Winterfell'_ by Maester Childer." Marna said as she dressed in her outfit for the day. "Though, if we go to the Library, Septon Chayle will likely reprimand me and send me straight to Septa Mordane, so it's probably best we go to the Godswood."

Betrys smiled at the suggestion as she grabbed Marna's soiled smallclothes from atop the dressing screen and moved to grab the soiled bedsheets as well. "Yes, milady, just let me send these bedsheets and your smallclothes down to the laundry and then we can go!"

A fully dressed Marna came out from behind the dressing screen, moving her way to her bed where she sat on the edge of it. A loud growl sounded out in the room, and a deep blush spread across Marna's face as she placed a hand on her stomach. "On second thought, do you think you could visit the kitchens and bring up some food? I didn't eat much at dinner last night. . ."

* * *

In the Godswood, Marna sat cross-legged on the edge of the pool of black water. Her long, nimble fingers fiddled with the grass, mindlessly tearing blades of it from the ground. Betrys sat against the ancient weirwood heart tree, which rested right next to the pool. She closed her eyes as she thought of the Old Gods and the things that troubled her.

Marna watched her handmaiden intently. The woman hadn't been her handmaiden for very long, maybe a whole moon at the very least, two moons at the most. In that time, they had never sat down and really talked or got to know one another. It was just Betrys doing her duties and helping Marna with whatever she needed.

 _'I need to be able to trust her, but how am I supposed to trust her when I haven't tried to learn anything about her?'_ thought Marna as she looked down, pausing her destruction of the grass. Quickly, she looked back up. Determined, she started to speak, "So, Betrys, you're relatively new to Winterfell, yes? So, where do you hail from?"

Betrys opened her honey-brown eyes to look over at her charge. "I'm from Oldcastle, milady. A branch member of House Locke, and the youngest of my father's ten children." she paused briefly to look away from Marna and towards the entrance of the Godswood. "My mother thought it'd be good for me to leave home and spend time with the higher nobility. She sent letters to several noblewomen, and your Lady Mother replied that your previous handmaiden had to retire from her duties for personal reasons. It wasn't long after that I was hired, milady."

The auburn-haired girl nodded in acknowledgment and started to pick at the grass once more before saying, "Oh, yes, I vaguely remember Mother mentioning that you were from House Locke. Your father, he's Barnaby Locke, correct?"

Betrys nodded in response, before realizing that the young girl wasn't even looking at her. Clearing her throat, she replied with a tight voice, "Yes, that's right. Why do you ask?"

Marna shrugged her shoulders before saying, "I was only wondering if we were cousins then." The somewhat older handmaiden looked at the girl in one part confusion and one part curiosity. "If I'm correct, I believe your dad was the youngest son of Darren Locke," Betrys nodded at this. "Darren was the brother of my great-grandmother, and my namesake, Marna Locke."

The eldest Stark girl looked up at Betrys with a small smile on her face. ' _It's distant, but family is family. I can trust her,'_ thought Marna.

"So, what would that make us, milady?" Betrys asked as she brought her knees closer to her chest, trying to get into a more comfortable position against the heart tree.

Marna dropped the grass that she had been in the middle of ripping out of the ground, pausing as she pursed her lips in concentration. "Hm. . . Well, I think that would technically make us second cousins, once removed. . ." Trailing off, she leaned forward to rinse her hands in the pool of water. "We're family, in any case. So, drop the 'milady', if you please. There's no need to be so formal."

The handmaiden nodded, tilting her head in acceptance. "As you wish, m-" Betrys quickly let out a cough, bring her hand to cover her mouth, to hid the fact that she had almost called her 'milady' again. "Excuse me! What I meant to say was, as you wish, Marna."

The petite girl gave a small smile in response, knowing that her distant relation would have called her 'milady' out of habit. She wiped her wet hands on the end of her dress before maneuvering into a more comfortable position, one that would prevent any leakage.

"Well, now, Betrys. How many siblings did you say you have, ten was it? Do you all share the same mother?" Marna asked while giving the woman her full attention, curious about her newfound cousin's family and life.

"My father has been married twice. His first wife, Lady Gwenda Overton, gave him five children, six technically but the last child died in childbed along with the mother." she started, legs now crossed with her hands folded in her lap. "Two sons and four daughters, with the last daughter being the one who died. His second and current wife, my mother, is Nyssa Crugowe. She's given him three sons and two daughters including myself, and I am the youngest of them all at ten-and-nine."

Marna brought her thumb up to her mouth as she watched and listened to her cousin-handmaiden talk. Chewing on the thumbnail, she gestured with her other hand for the girl to continue.

"Well, there's Genna, the eldest of us all at forty-and-seven, who married into House Blackmyre, one of the Crannogmen houses, and gave him an entire brood of her own. I think she has seven or eight children, mostly sons, but I am not entirely sure. I'm not particularly close with her as she was married off before I was even born." Betrys paused to look over at Marna, who sat there watching Betrys intently, before continuing.

"After her was Eamon, but he died during Robert's Rebellion at the age of twenty-and-eight. He married a Flint girl and had twin boys, Verric and Merric, before his death. The twins and I were raised together, as they were but a year older than me."

"After him is Larysa, who remains unmarried and a maid to this day despite being forty-and-one. She recently left home to do a bit of traveling, took a couple of guards with her and didn't look back."

"Then there's Donnel, or rather Ser Donnel as he's a quite capable knight. He's thirty-and-eight, and he's been married twice but the first wife, an Arryn girl, was sickly and died shortly into their marriage after she caught a persistent fever, while the other wife, an Ashwood girl, died after a particularly nasty miscarriage." The young woman took a moment to gather her thoughts and to catch her breath before continuing.

"The last child who survived childhood is Norah, who is thirty-and-four. She married a Glover man and has a few children by him, three or four I think. Those siblings are all children by Gwenda."

"My mother's children starts off with Tomas who is thirty. He won a tourney a few years back and won himself a spot on the Kingsguard, so he is forever unmarried. After him comes Silas, who is twenty-and-eight, who married himself a pretty Oakheart girl from the Reach. They have two daughters and a son."

"After him, Mother miscarried once before she had the twins, Tobias and Alys, who are now twenty-and-three. Tobias volunteered to join the Night's Watch on his twenty-first nameday, and none of us has heard from him since, while Alys was married off to an Estermont in the Stormlands a year ago and is with her first child. Finally, there's me, you know my name and my age, but I am unmarried of my own volition."

She finished, looking back at her younger charge and cousin awaiting some sort of response. Expecting a quip about how large this particular Locke brood was, she subconsciously crossed her arms in defense. ' _We may be a large group, but we don't nearly compare to the Freys and their ilk. And at least we're infinitely more pleasant than them as well!'_ thought Betrys, defiantly looking towards the young girl.

What she got though was a small, friendly smile and large, blue-grey eyes filled with acceptance. "I can see that you care deeply for your family, Betrys. Are you particularly close with your other siblings? It must have been quite difficult being the youngest amongst such a varied age group. I can scarcely imagine being the youngest of my siblings, as I myself am the third eldest, well, if you count my half-brother Jon anyway."

Before Betrys could reply to the girl's question, the sound of someone clearing their throat filled their ears. Turning her head towards the sound, Marna saw the small, gray man with the gray eyes and hair - _Maester Luwin_ \- standing before them with one of his eyebrows raised and his hands folded in front of him.

"Marna, my lady, do you not have lessons with Septa Mordane and your sisters?" He asked Marna pointedly.

The girl swallowed the lump in her throat before giving a closed smile at the old man. "Maester Luwin! Yes, I _did_ have lessons today, but I was not feeling well this morning. Betrys and I thought a bit of fresh air might help me feel a tad bit better, but we haven't been outside for very long."

Maester Luwin gave a small, closed smile in response. "Well, my dear, if you're feeling ill, you should have come and -"

Marna stood up quickly, arms waving in front of her. "Oh, no, Maester, it's nothing serious. I… to be honest. . . Um. . . Well, it is my moonblood, Maester. . . It's almost always taxing on me and I simply wanted to take a break from my duties before the pain gets any worse." As she finished talking, she was wringing her hands and avoiding eye contact with the Maester. Embarrassment filled her due to talking about her moonblood with a man and she was nervous that he would have her punished for skirting her duties.

Maester Luwin tugged at the chain around his neck, a clear sign that he was a bit uncomfortable with the topic. "Well, my Lady, I have a vial of vinsonge you may drink if the pain gets to be too much for you. Feel free to visit me in my study if that happens. Meanwhile, I must insist that you attend your lessons, my Lady."

Marna frowned petulantly at the old man, obviously not liking his "insistence", but she knew better than to argue with him.

Betrys covered her mouth as she tried not to laugh at her Lady's expression. She was such a temperamental little thing; she actually thought that she would be able to shirk off her lessons of the day as if someone would not track her down. Lowering her hand, Betrys stood up to join Marna. "Come along, my Lady. We should not keep the Septa waiting any longer. You know how cross she gets when anyone is late."

With shoulders slumped in defeat, Marna mumbled a goodbye to Maester Luwin before following her Handmaiden to the Septa's study.


	2. Duncan (Chapter Two)

**The Stag and The Direwolf**

* * *

This is mostly unedited because I really just wanted to get this posted. Apologies for the long wait. Between college and mental health issues, I haven't been able to really sit down and finish this chapter until recently.

Warning: Super brief gloss-over of a sexual encounter between two men towards the beginning of the chapter.

* * *

 **Chapter Two:** _Duncan  
_

Sounds of heavy breathing, masculine grunts, and the sound of skin slapping against skin in a frenzied rhythm filled the room of a brothel. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, sex, and exotic spices. Slowly, but surely, the sounds coming from the two men in the room escalated until the final cries of pleasure sounded out. All that remained was heavy breathing.

"Seven Hells, Prince." The blond-haired man said in a breathless voice, a tired grin forming easily on his face. "My shoulders are going to be bruised come morning, I can tell you that right now."

The Prince smirked unapologetically before he pulled out and tenderly kissed the older man's shoulders. "Apologies, my dearest Olyvar."

Olyvar snorted, "Apologies, my sore arse. You love it when I get marked, you sadistic litt-" The Prince was quick to turn Olyvar over onto his back, straddle him, and capture the man's lips with his own in a passionate kiss.

Pulling away, The Prince gave a small, cheeky smile as he tangled his legs with Olyvar's. "To be honest I don't know what it is, perhaps it's an instinct of wanting to show that someone is mine."

Olyvar resisted rolling his eyes at the young Prince. "But I'm not yours, my Prince. I can't ever be just yours. In this moment maybe, but after? I belong to the next cock that comes calling."

The Prince frowned for a moment before placing a chaste kiss on Olyvar's chin and nuzzling the side of his face. "I know. I do. This is your livelihood. I respect that. I just can't help but get territorial. I'll try to restrain myself next time. However, for now, can we just lay here? I have awhile before I must get back to the castle, and… I'll pay you for your time, of course."

Olyvar sighed heavily. The Prince had it bad for him. He knew this. To be honest, Olyvar was quite fond of the Prince as well but there was nothing that could be done about it; the Prince was one of his highest paying customers and Olyvar simply could not afford to say no. Not to mention the fact that Littlefinger would skewer him alive if he didn't use these opportunities to spy on the Prince.

Finally rolling his eyes, Olyvar forced a grin, "Oh, come here, you big lout." He said before wrapping his well-toned arms around the Prince and leaning his head against the Prince's black-haired head. _'Might as well go all in, Littlefinger is getting anxious about the Prince…'_ thought Olyvar, as the Prince grabbed a blanket to cover them before cuddling closer to the blond-haired whore.

Hours had passed. The setting sun turned the clouds above orange and red and purple, the colors changing as time went on. It was around this time that Ser Merlon Crakehall entered his Prince's favorite whorehouse. The Prince could often be found at this brothel when he couldn't be found elsewhere.

Merlon knew of his charge's affection for a certain blond whore named Olyvar and he was not one to stand in the way of a Baratheon or a Lannister's affection. Especially since his Prince was both a Stag and a Lion, and thus doubly stubborn. The Crown Prince wasn't as careful as Merlon would like with these brothel visits, however. Spies were everywhere, especially in a whorehouse owned by Littlefinger of all people. Secrets could not be kept in a brothel.

Seeing the Prince so blinded by his affection for Olyvar worried the sworn sword. Especially tonight. It was almost dark and long after supper. Did he fall asleep? If so, the Prince will have to pay triple what he usually pays and that's quite a lot since Olyvar is such an expensive whore. If he fell asleep, can Olyvar be trusted to look after the Prince and keep him safe?

No, Olyvar could not be trusted. Merlon knew he should have gone with the Prince to the brothel, but Duncan convinced him to stay at the keep and to take a day off. That he deserved it. Merlon agreed quickly knowing that Duncan was off to see Olyvar. There's only so many times you can stand outside a door and listen as your Prince and best friend fucks and gets fucked by that smarmy blond prick.

Merlon sent three sharp knocks to the door that Duncan could often be found behind as he stood quietly. The sound of someone starting awake, and knocking a platter over in the process, filled Merlon's ears as he rolled his eyes. Olyvar. A minute later and the blond whore himself opened the door to reveal the man partially undressed. No shirt, his trousers hastily pulled on and left untied, and his short blond hair a mess.

Blue eyes met green and immediately a smirk met a frown. "Ser Merlon, what a pleasure!" Olyvar greeted, blue eyes twinkling with mischief and his signature smirk ever growing.

"Where is he, whore?" Ser Merlon asked, his voice low and deep with a hint of unsaid threats should Olyvar not produce the Prince immediately.

"Oh, calm yourself, Crakehall. You know how he is... Duncan is a heavy sleeper. Not even a boar could wake him." Olyvar gave a pointed grin towards the sworn sword before opening the door wider to allow the man to enter the room.

In the middle of the private room, a large circular bed upon a stone base drew Merlon's eyes. The figure of his Prince could easily be made, his naked body barely covered by a silk sheet. Soft snores could be heard coming from the man. It took a second longer than he would have liked, but Merlon came to his senses and moved to wake up his friend. "Prince Duncan, it's time to come home now!" He spoke loudly, but he knew that it would do nothing to wake the man. "Olyvar, fetch me a pitcher."

The blond man scrunched up his nose as he closed the door and walked to the other two men. "You are not getting the bed wet! There must be something else you can do to wake him up?"

Merlon rolled his eyes again, "What do you suppose I do?"

"I don't care what you do, so long as you don't ruin the bed." Olyvar spat at him, arms crossed over his chest. _'If the bed gets ruined, Littlefinger will take it out of my wages…'_

Merlon groaned in annoyance before moving away from the bed to look around the room. There were draperies with various shades of red, a stand with a pitcher and a bowl of fruit, and… wait. The platter he heard being knocked over earlier.

"Since I can't pour wine over him, can I make noise? Is that allowed, whore?" Merlon asked, but he didn't wait for an answer before circling the bed, grabbing the rectangular silver platter, and unsheathing one of his daggers. Several loud bangs against the platter made near the Prince's ear later…. And he was finally stirring awake.

"Hm? Ollie, what's… Merl?" Duncan asked, sleep heavy in his voice as he woke from his slumber, "What… What are you doing here, I told you to take the day off."

Merlon shook his head at the Prince, "My Prince, the sun has fallen and you've missed supper." He frowned as if he were disappointed. "You worried me, Dunk."

The Prince chuckled at his friend before pushing himself up into a seated position on the bed. "Well, I'm fine, as you can see. Ollie and I fell asleep after our… activities. It's nothing to worry over, friend."

"That's not the point, My Prince. If I didn't come collect you… when you woke up you would have walked home unguarded in the middle of the night. You need to be more careful." Merlon stressed, frowning as he sat at the end of the bed.

"Merlon, I'm a man now. I can take care of myself. The people love me, and the ones that don't love me wouldn't dare touch me so long as my father is King." Duncan gave a small, reassuring grin aimed at his close friend and confidant. "Besides, if you hadn't interrupted, I probably wouldn't have awoken 'til morning."

"Not to interrupt this lovely conversation, but I'd have to side with Crakehall on this one… as much as it pains me. I've been trying to wake you for hours now, my Prince, and as much as I enjoy our time together, I do have other clients that prefer our private rooms." Olyvar said pointedly towards his lover.

Duncan frowned but nodded in understanding. "Yes, you're absolutely right. I apologize, I should have left as soon as we were finished... but you know how I love lying next to you after." He paused for effect before pulling the sheet around his waist as he stood from the bed to gather his clothes and belongings.

Merlon sent an annoyed but grateful look towards Olyvar before helping Duncan collect his things.

* * *

When the Prince awoke the next morning, he found himself in his chambers in the Red Keep. He scarcely remembered returning to his chambers the previous night, with the help of Ser Crakehall, but couldn't recall getting in bed. Despite that, he awoke in his bed in his usual sleeping state: bare to the world.

Duncan muttered to himself as he blinked away the light shining through his balcony door and the windows on either side. "Ugh…" He groaned, tempted to bury his head into his pillows and return to the darkness. But as the sound of knocking filled his ears, Duncan groaned again before rolling himself off the bed and righting himself up. "Who is it?" He called out, pulling a sheet to cover the lower half of his body.

"Ser Crakehall, my Prince. Here to drag you to the dining hall." Merlon responded, a slight grin on his bearded face. "Are you decent?"

The Prince hopped up from the bed and made his way to his wardrobe. "No, but you may come in anyway. Nothing you haven't seen before." He said as he pulled out a set of trousers and a simple linen tunic.

The door cracked open as the Prince's sworn shield walked into the room before closing behind him. "Sleep well?" He asked, staying close to the door as he watched the Prince drop the sheet to get dressed. Merlon forced himself to look away. _'Gods… Give me strength.'_

"Aye." Duncan nodded as he pulled on his trousers. "A good roll in the hay helps me sleep soundly," He grinned at Merlon.

Ser Crakehall forced a chuckle, shaking his head slightly. "I'm sure." He said, subtly admiring Duncan's form as the man pulled on a tunic. "What are your plans for the day, Dunk?"

The Prince hummed for a moment, recalling what he had to do today as he turned to face his friend. "I have tutoring with Pycelle after my morning meal, then sparring with Santagar after midday. After that, I'll likely visit with Jon in the evening and see if I can help him with anything before I dine with Tommen and Myrcella."

Merlon nodded, "Sounds like a full day. Let us go eat then."

* * *

Later that evening, after training with the master-at-arms and cleaning himself up when he was done, Duncan headed towards the tower of the hand to check in on Jon Arryn – the hand of the king and practically Duncan's grandfather. Jon fostered King Robert in the Vale, alongside Eddard Stark, long before he became King.

He nodded his head in acknowledgment towards guards and servants alike, making sure to hold eye contact for several seconds and giving a small smile. Duncan did his best to present himself as friendly as he could, for he believed that if the people didn't like their rulers then those rulers could be overthrown. Hell, his father was a Usurper himself. A rebellion was always a possibility if the people weren't content with how their countries were being ruled.

Walking up the steps of the tower, he dragged his hand along the stone walls. The texture helped ground him to the present, helped him breathe and collect his thoughts. It was something he's always done for as long as he could remember. One time his father saw him and laughed because he and Stannis would do the same when they were younger.

Duncan had many things on his mind: his fling with Olyvar and how he knows it won't last but how he wishes it could; how he spotted his mother and uncle kissing like lovers a few weeks prior and how he wish he could tell someone, anyone, but knows that his father would likely murder them both if he found out; how he knows he'll need to be married off soon, but he's absolutely terrified of the notion of marriage considering that both of his parents are unfaithful to one another and have a loveless marriage.

Shaking his head with a heavy sigh, Duncan pressed his hand harder against the stone walls and hurried his speed up the stairs. 'Better not to think about any of it. Train, learn, fuck, eat, sleep, repeat. Leave no time to wandering thoughts.'

As he finally reached the top of the stairs, Duncan heard mumbling behind the door. _'Jon's here, good.'_ He thought before raising his right hand to rap his knuckles against the wooden door three times.

"…Huh? Who… Who's there?" The older man called out from behind the door.

"It's Duncan, wanted to see if you needed any help with anything before I dine." The prince responded, a friendly grin making its way onto his fair skinned face.

"Oh! Dunk, m' boy, come in!" Jon cried out in a hurried voice. Duncan could hear the latch unlock and he watched as the wooden door was pushed open for him.

The young man's smile slowly fell off his face as he took in the sight of the Hand of the King. Jon stood before him with his broad shoulders hunched, his fair skin turned red and clammy, dark circles under his blue eyes. "Jon… are you alright?" Duncan asked, his voice low and careful as he walked into the room.

Jon shut the door behind him, before scurrying over to his desk. "'m fine. Well, no, that isn't exactly true. I feel… ill. But, that doesn't matter right now." The older man pauses briefly as he searches through the papers in front of him. "Dunk, listen to me."

The prince shuffled from one foot to the other. _'I should alert his_ Maester _…'_ He thought before walking over to the other man. "Jon, here, let's sit down for a minute and you can tell me what you need to tell me."

The older man looked away from his desk, gave the prince a long look, before nodding. "Yes, alright." Jon paused, letting out a string of awful coughs. "But you must listen closely! This is important, m' boy."

Duncan gently helped the other man sit in his chair by the windows, his brows furrowed with worry. "I promise. Just tell me, whatever it is, I'll listen."

Nodding, Jon gripped the prince's arm and whispered, "Your uncle Stannis and I were suspicious of many things, but they were ultimately of your mother and her closeness to her brother Jaime." He paused, gauging Duncan's reaction. The prince steeled his expression. Jon sighed, continuing, "Then, it was how three out of four of her children bore only Lannister features."

Duncan pulled Jon's hand off his arm. "Are you trying to tell me that my mother and uncle…"

"Please, let me get this all out. I will explain it all." Jon interrupted, gripping the prince's arm again. Duncan swallowed his protests, giving a shaky nod. "We went digging into the Baratheon pedigree, to see if there were other Baratheon and Lannister unions. There were."

"And?" Duncan asked, his mind swimming with the thought that the kiss he saw between his mother and uncle went deeper than just a kiss. "What did you learn?"

Jon paused, releasing the other man's arm upon recognizing that he wouldn't run away. He cleared his throat of phlegm and continued speaking in a hoarse whisper. "In every Baratheon and Lannister union recorded, the children born were black of hair. In fact, every legitimate Baratheon born was listed as black of hair."

The prince's eyes widened as the information sunk into his brain like molasses. "Black of hair… So, does that mean… Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen…. They're…?"

"Bastards," Jon replied immediately and without hesitation, leaning further back against the chair. "And considering how close Cersei and Jaime are, they're likely his."

"Gods." Duncan raised one hand to cover his mouth while his other arm crossed over his chest. "Jon, I… I should tell you. I saw… A few weeks ago, I saw my mother and Uncle Jaime kiss."

"You saw them kiss? Are you certain?" The older man asked, leaning forward in his chair once more. "It wasn't a familial kiss?"

Duncan shook his head, stepping backward and allowing himself to sit in the chair across from Jon. "No, no, it was not a familial kiss, Jon. They looked more like lovers instead of brother and sister. I… I didn't want to say anything. I know how father is, and… I worry about what he would do with this information."

"Duncan… I'm sorry, but this cannot be kept from the King. He- He…" Jon paused to cough, one that wracked his body almost violently. "Your father must… He must…" His words became slurred as he continued to cough.

The prince looked at the older man, his brow furrowed with concern. "Jon? Are you alright?" He asked as Jon continued to cough. "Should I call for Maester Colemon?"

When the coughing man nodded his assent, Duncan stood from his chair and hurried out of the room. He took the steps down two by two, his eyes peeled for Jon's Maester. _'Hold on, Jon.'_ Duncan thought to himself as he left the tower of the hand, his hands shaking slightly and his brows still furrowed deep with concern. _'Just hold on.'_


End file.
